


Tried To

by the_authors_exploits



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fill, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 12:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10764693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: Anon said: i've always thought "daniel in the den" by bastille would be awesome to base a jason fic on.





	Tried To

**Author's Note:**

> [Crossposted on Ace--Jace](http://ace--jace.tumblr.com/post/160034137794/ive-always-thought-daniel-in-the-den-by)

_And you thought the lions were bad_

It’s not that fear is uncommon; in fact, Dick has told Jason many a time that even he has nightmares. Of experiences as Robin, of his parents, of things that still happen. With his work in the police force and his adventures as Nightwing.

But Jason isn’t like Dick; or at least, he didn’t think he was. He grew up on the streets, seeing stuff Dick probably never saw; women withering away, children dead or dying, men with more bone than meat… He’d seen people at their lowest, crimes that were gruesome and damaging…

But there’s something about the night, with a looming Batman and a colorful Robin, and the torturous visages in the shadows, laughing and laughing… It makes a shiver run down his spine, the way Harley calls Joker puddin’ and the green of Riddler’s suit is in his nightmares.

Jason fears a lot…

_Well they tried to kill my brothers_

Cold, but warm, and the warmth—liquid—makes him colder; there’s something cold against his skin, which either breaks it and draws more warm liquid or makes Jason want to cry out. But he bites his tongue, he closes his eyes, he goes someplace else...

He flies, like a bird, while a monster tortures him and Robin burns in a fire.

_And for every king that died_

Dick isn’t there to receive the call; he’s out on a mission as Nightwing in Russia. He works hard, sleeps little, and is ever so happy to be back home, stepping off a plane in Bludhaven. He slips into his car with his baggage, turns on his phone for the first time, and turns the ignition; as he’s exiting the parking garage, his phone goes off multiple times, overrun by missed messages.

 _“Master Richard, please contact us as soon as possible.”_ Alfred’s voice cracks, and Dick frowns; that’s not like the composed butler. _“I truly hope you are well.”_

There are several other messages from Alfred, each more urgent, and Dick grabs his phone when the anxiety climbs too high; he dials Alfred, and the butler answers almost immediately.

 _“Master Richard,”_ the man answers; he sounds strained, tired…

“Is everything alright, Alfred?”

A pause; his breath shudders, and the traffic light turns red. The next words that leave Alfred’s mouth cause Dick to drop the phone and his body goes numb; it’s a terrifying sensation, if familiar, and suddenly Dick is back on the trapeze except this time it’s his little brother falling and Dick wasn’t there to catch him.

_Oh they would crown another_

“Hi,” the boy says; he’s wearing familiar colors, a new outfit. But the symbol is the same, the meaning and representation.

Nightwing can only stare; his mouth parted, his mind blanks. He knows there’s another outfit, same colors, collecting dust like a legacy—or a warning… Either one, it’s turned ever more sacred than a representation of Dick’s mom and dad.

Now it represents a body buried beneath dirt, like Dick’s parents, but small and young and tortured; a name etched in stone, like Dick’s parents, and he wonders if the position is cursed… Will he lose this one too?

The boy looks away, as if ashamed, and shifts his grip on the bostaff in his hand. “I’m Robin.”

_And it’s harder than you think_

Dick goes home and cries the night he meets the new Robin; he sits at the end of his bed, head buried in his hands, and weeps.

_Telling dreams from one another_

There’s blood on his face; there’s scars across his arms, marking every place on his skin. There’s a white strip of hair, stark against the rest of his head, and there’s air in his lungs; being drawn in through his nose, breathed out over his chapped lips.

And Dick sometimes can’t tell if this is reality or not, if it’s true that his brother is here, back, alive and whole and well; he’s dreamed of it so many times, he can hardly believe Jason is real and alive and sleeping on his couch in his apartment.

Whether it’s just a super realistic dream or not, Dick has chosen to enjoy the moment of peace and wholeness.

_And you thought the lions were bad,  
Well they  tried to kill my brothers…_


End file.
